Never Their Hearts Defiled
by CaffieneKitty
Summary: A hero's work is never done. Post Ep tag for 5.10, contains episode spoilers. Not humor


**Rating/Warning:** Spoilers for 5.10. Gen, PG13. Mangled quasi-religious themes and probable blasphemy. Maudlin-ish. Kind of weird. Afterlife-Fic. Includes many post-mortem references including death of family members.

**Beta:** Thanks muchly to the ever-wondrous **ciaranbochna **of LJ!**  
**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural, I'm just mucking about with it. I don't own the rights to any theological texts either. Please don't smite me.

**Summary:** A hero's work is never done.

**A/N:** Obviously I have no idea what I'm talking about. All my research are belong to Wikipedia, and there isn't much of that. Above all, I mean _absolutely no offense_ to anyone of any belief-system.

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**Never Their Hearts Defiled**

_by CaffieneKitty_

-

Ellen pushed the button in Jo's hand and the world went away. She opened her eyes and the world was back, but different.

She was outside, standing in a field; dark roiling clouds covered the sky horizon to horizon. It was day, or something like it, and she was not alone.

On and on over the fields, thousands, millions of people, everywhere. Many people in uniform, some not. As Ellen watched, knots of them came together with cheers, hugging, slapping of backs. Police, firemen, soldiers from every era. A few feet away a cluster of Roman soldiers clung together, talking in rough Latin. People in street clothes dotted the throng, looking lost and stunned, but cautiously smiling.

"What is this?" Ellen breathed, speaking to herself and not expecting and answer.

"I thought at first it was the Rapture," said a voice behind her.

Ellen spun. A grey-haired man in a clerical collar stood in a less-crowded patch.

"However," he continued, looking around the fields, "I do believe it's the 'Rising of the Martyrs'. Or something like it at least. Perhaps with a touch of Valhalla and Elysium."

"Jim?"

Pastor Jim smiled, eyes sparkling. "I wouldn't think I counted as a martyr myself, but I don't make the rules."

Ellen tackled him in a hug, clinging to a long-lost friend in the crowd of strangers.

"I hope you won't take it wrong when I say I'm sorry to see you here, Ellen," Jim murmured as the hug broke apart.

"I-" She glanced around the crowd before turning back to Pastor Jim. "Jo. She has to be here too. If I'm here, she must be."

The Pastor's face grew unutterably sad. "Oh Ellen. I am so sorry."

"She-" For a second Ellen couldn't speak. Less than ten minutes ago, Jo had died in her arms. She hadn't had a chance to grieve, but if Jo was here- "There's so many people, Jim. I have to find her."

"Let's walk." They began moving through the crowd, looking for long blond hair. Despite not being the only people moving through the vast crowd, they didn't need to shove or push to get through; no one did.

"Are they-" _Face facts, Ellen._ "Are we all ghosts?"

"I don't know. Something other than alive."

"Why is this happening?"

Pastor Jim looked out across the throng. "The Rise of the Martyrs is to happen at the end of days, when those who have willingly given their lives for something other than themselves rise and are brought together to fight in the final battle alongside the armies of... well I'd say Heaven, but others would have different words. The 'good guys', shall we say. Traditionally, the something other than themselves they've given their lives for is their faith, or their belief in God, but I think the Biblical interpretation may have been limited in scope. Many cultures throughout history have a belief that the souls of the war dead are honored, and fight again at the end of all things."

Ellen scanned the crowd. "So many people."

"History is very long. It goes all the way back to the beginning." Jim smirked gently. "It's safe to say that some of the people around us now have been gone much longer than we have."

"A lot of them gave their lives fighting _each other_ though, Jim. Won't they just-"

"Look." Pastor Jim pointed at the clusters of people nearby.

A soldier in blue slapped the shoulder of a soldier in gray. Men in turbans shook hands with people in yarmulkes. Everywhere, smiling, laughing.

"They all know their wars are over. No one here will raise a hand against another human being again."

"Yup," said an amiable voice behind them. "We all got bigger fish to fry now, I guess."

Ellen and Pastor Jim turned to see a grinning bald-headed man extract himself from the crowd.

"Caleb!" Pastor Jim shouted, grabbing the man's hand and pulling him into a back-slapping hug.

"I've been following you since the Romans back there. You still suck at spotting a tail, Murphy." Caleb grinned and slapped Jim's shoulders before turning to Ellen.

Ellen grinned. "_You_ still owe me three cases of ammo to cover your bar tab, you freeloader."

Caleb laughed. "Aw, you know I'm good for it!" They pulled each other into a hug.

"Have you seen Jo?" Ellen asked.

Caleb's face darkened. "Little Jo-Jo? She's here too?"

"She's a grown woman and made her own choice, Caleb," said Ellen, feeling the beginnings of real acceptance of her daughter's decision.

"Winchesters?" Caleb asked with a tilt of a grin.

Ellen laughed wryly. "Yeah."

Caleb nodded. "Safe enough guess. Haven't seen her. We need a better vantage point if we're gonna find her in all this."

Pastor Jim pointed at a nearby rise which was bare of people. "There's a hill. We should get a better view from up there."

They headed for the hill, threading through knots of people, and climbed up. From the top, the field was like a sea; groups and individuals shifting around the field in slow-swelling tides. Across it all, other voices called in every language, people searching for compatriots, friends and family.

"I'm surprised this hill is so empty," Caleb said. "All those people and no one's up here."

"That's because they do not see it. Not yet." A low calm voice. They all turned.

Behind them on the hill stood a man in a trenchcoat, suit and loosened tie, blue eyes squinted into the rising breeze.

"Castiel?" said Ellen.

"Who the hell's this joker?" Caleb asked, guardedly jovial.

"He's..." she looked at Pastor Jim, whose eyes had widened slightly at the name. "Castiel's an angel."

The pastor's mouth dropped open and he inhaled shakily. "Oh."

"Seriously?" Caleb smirked, eyebrows creeping up his forehead.

Castiel glanced towards the bald man. "At most times I'm very serious, particularly now."

"You're not one of the-" Ellen spread her arms wide, taking in the masses.

"No. I'm not embodied here. I'm only using this image so that we can talk before this begins." The angel touched his chest. "Jimmy Novak, the man whose body I have used as a vessel, I suspect he is among you. If so, he'll find his way to this hill soon."

"If no one can see the hill, why are we standing on it?" said Pastor Jim, a tone of dawning suspicion creeping into his voice. "How come we can see it?"

"You are different. You have greater knowledge of the immediate situation, and you have already given your lives in a part of the Final Battle."

"What in the who now?" Caleb squinted. "What final battle? A demon who wanted to know where the Winchesters were slit my throat."

"Exactly." Castiel nodded.

Ellen shook her head and pushed past Caleb to confront the angel. "Castiel, where's Jo?"

"She is coming, along with the others." Castiel turned to look down the other side of the hill towards a tall, dark-haired, scruffy man in jeans and an over-shirt. John Winchester.

"Hey! John! You son of a bitch!" Caleb shouted amiably.

"Hey, Ellen, Jim, Caleb." John grinned and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Ellen, you missin' someone?"

"Oh," said Ellen.

Coming up the hill was Jo, smiling. "Mom! Look who I found!" She was linked arm-in-arm with-

"Bill." Ellen gasped, flinging herself towards her daughter and husband.

William Harvelle caught Ellen, rocking back from the impact. "Hey, hey," he said, burying his nose in her hair. "Missed you."

Not trusting her voice, Ellen reached out and gathered Jo into her embrace as well. The first hug they'd had as a family since Bill had died. They were together. Somehow, she'd always known they would be. Someone in the huddle was crying, maybe all of them. Ellen didn't want to let go of either of them; never again.

"Did we get 'em, Mom?" Jo asked.

"Yeah honey, we did."

Behind them Ellen could hear Jim, Caleb and John exchanging friendly jibes and back-slapping hugs. The Harvelle huddle seperated, but Ellen kept a grip on her husband and daughter's hands.

John cleared his throat and eyed Castiel. "You're the guy with the answers, I hear."

"So far I got that we're standing on a hill no one else can see because we died in a battle that hasn't happened yet," Caleb summarized.

"The battle is always happening," Castiel clarified.

"Also he's an enigmatic sonofabitch," Caleb added. "No offense, your angelship."

"None taken."

"So," asked Ellen. "Why are we here, Cas?"

"As I said, you have already given your lives in Final Battle, whether you knew it at the time or not. The others were killed in solely human conflict. You are among the twice-martyred." Castiel indicated the millions of people surrounding the hill. "You are to be the leaders of this army."

The hilltop burst with questions.

"Now hold on-"

"The leaders of what??"

Pastor Jim remained silent, but nodded.

"It will not only be you," said Castiel. "The rest will gather soon."

"We're supposed to lead this bunch?" asked John, looking over the crowd that stretched to the horizon on all sides.

"Yes."

"We don't even speak the same language as most of them," said Caleb.

"That will not be an issue."

"Some of us haven't been in an army, let alone commanded one," asked Jo. "How are we supposed to do this?"

"It will come." The wind rose, and Castiel's tie fluttered. "Everything will come, when it's time."

On all sides of the hill, Ellen could see more people climbing up. She recognized a few from the Roadhouse; Ash hollered and waved.

Ellen waved back. "Come on," she said to the group on the hill. "We've got work to do."

- - -  
(that's all.)

**Post A/N:** Title bastardized from a classical Greek poem about Elysium.


End file.
